Mathilda Savitch by Victor Lodato

Author:Victor Lodato
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781429952699
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux

31

“Feel my head,” I say. “Da, feel my head.” I pull his hand to my forehead. “I think maybe I have a fever,” I tell him.

He’s barely walked in the door and I’m all over him.

“What are you doing home?” he says. “It’s not even two o’clock.”

“The nurse sent me.”

“Don’t lie,” he says.

“I’m not.” I tell him to sit down and I ask him does he want something to drink. I can be the perfect hostess when I make an effort. I’m just glad he’s here.

“Where’d you get that coat?” he says.

I look down and realize I still have on the guinea pig. My hat’s still on my head too. “That’s probably why I was so hot,” I say. I try to make it like a joke but it doesn’t work. I don’t have complete control of my face.

I take off my coat and Da takes off his. We both sit on the couch. It’s like we’re on a first date. There’s not a lot of eye contact.

“I’ve spoken with her,” he says.

“Who?” I say.

“Who the hell do you think?”

I ask if she’s at her sister’s but Da just looks at me like he’s confused.

“With Aunt Marie,” I say.

“No,” Da says. “What are you talking about?”

“The one who gave us the hats,” I say.

“Marie’s dead,” he says. “You know that.”

“I didn’t know she was dead,” I say.

“Five, six years ago,” Da says.

“Nobody told me.” I can feel the heat shooting up my neck. I know Aunt Marie’s not the issue but, still, somebody should have told me.

“You hardly knew her,” Da says, as if that’s any consolation. “Why are you getting so upset?”

“Did I go to the funeral?” I say.

“I don’t remember,” he says. “You were a baby, Mathilda.”

“I wasn’t a baby five, six years ago,” I say. I do the math in his face with my fingers.

“Okay,” Da says. “Okay.”

“So where is she then?”

“Don’t shout,” he says, even though I’m not shouting. I’m just enunciating. Da touches his own forehead now like he’s the one with the fever. His face actually changes color.

“She’s at a hotel,” he says.

“Where?”

“North of here,” he says.

“In the mountains?”

“I don’t know the town,” he says.

“Desmond?” I say.

“No,” he says. “God Mathilda.” And he turns away from me in disgust. For a second, his face is the face of a murderer. I guess violence is everywhere, under everything. Even fathers.

“You’re so much like her,” he says, shaking his head. And I don’t know if it’s a compliment or an insult. I don’t even know which her he’s talking about.

“I’ll go with you,” I say. “Da, I’ll go with you.”

“Where are we going?” he says.

“To the hotel,” I say.

Da looks at me and brushes the tears from my face. He can’t help himself.

“It’s going to be fine,” he says.

“Don’t lie,” I say. “What if she won’t come back?”

“She won’t even let you touch her anymore,” I say.

It’s like I’ve shot an arrow into his heart. His face swallows the pain but I can still see it. My thought is to somehow pull out the arrow, to say something to reverse what I just said.

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